Eye drops
by Pinerug
Summary: Captain James thoughts immediately after the mission to remove Bashira from her family.


**Thank you to everyone who gave me lovely reviews for my first attempt at FF. I wasn't intending to do anything from Captain James' point of view, as I couldn't think of a similar pivotal scene. However I should never have doubted the in depth knowledge of the mumsnetters, and after some discussion about the Bashira suicide belt scene (stay tuned to the CJ Collective for more info) it seemed like this was a good point where the Captain James' attraction to Molly was becoming more obvious. This is a stand alone story. I have a couple more stories gestating in my brain, but they will take some time to be written.**

**Characters belong to Tony Grounds and the BBC.**

**A/N - Archie is a character I have made up. He will appear in a future story**

My eye is bloody killing me; it feels like half of Afghanistan has been flung against my retinas. I'm afraid I've left Kinders and Azizi to mop up after that stunt in the market square. Dawes has squirreled me off to the med station at the school and is doling out treatment with her usual mixture of professional skill and squaddie bedside manner. Apparently rinsing this dust and desiccated goat shit from my eye is "a bit of a waste of an eyedrop". She added the "Sir" with her usual cheeky grin and I jokingly told her she'd be up on a charge. Thank god for banter, truth be told I'm finding being in such close proximity to Dawsey a little trying.

I've never experienced this sort of emotional turmoil from any of my platoons before. In four tours of Afghan I've seen some horrific things. Things I wouldn't wish on anyone. Deaths of good soldiers; friends and comrades maimed by landmines and snipers. I've seen the worst and the best that man can be. But I'm a soldier, even in the midst of all of that I've been sure of myself. My duty and position see me through the worst and when I'm home, if it surfaces again I deal with it then.

Taliban and the heat aside the worst is usually keeping morale up in the face of boredom, a bit of homesickness and the occasional falling out. But Dawsey, she's a different kettle of fish. She's a mixture of bravado and insecurity; professionalism and emotional vulnerability. It's compelling and utterly exhausting. There's no doubting she's already an excellent soldier and medic. She shows skill and resourcefulness beyond someone on her first tour. She seems eager to learn, to reach out beyond her lot in the platoon, to make things right in her own Dawsey way.

It's an endearing quality. It's earned her respect and friendships with some of the ANA troops and Qaseem, but it also leaves her vulnerable. This is a war zone and despite our best efforts it is inevitable that there will be injuries and perhaps losses. I worry that she is leaving herself open to a lot of hurt.

And there's the rub. The concern I feel for Dawes is beyond the professional duty of care I customarily feel for those under my command. I can't even put it down to her being a woman. I've served with women before, and one quickly gets beyond that sort of thing. Not that that sort of thing has been much of an issue since things began to go wrong between Rebecca and I. "Dead from the groin up" was the phrase Archie used.

Despite her piss taking, the way that Dawes is holding my face to put in the eye drops is rather proving that I'm no longer dead anywhere, especially not in my groin. Her face is tantalisingly close. From my one good eye I can see every freckle, and I can feel her breath against my cheek. Her body is leaning in to mine; I grip the sides of the table to keep my hands where they should be, not where they want to be. Given half a chance I'd be holding her hips, sliding my hands round to her bum and pulling her against my body. I'm a bloody soldier in the British Army. I do not think like this about any of my troops.

Dawes is worried about the girl. She asks if I know where she's been taken to; if she will be safe there, wherever that is. I don't know and it's best that way. We've played our part. We've removed the girl, we've given her a chance to be free of her family. Considering what her family have just done to her it's a good thing.

But Dawes is full of remorse and doubt. Before we embarked on this mission her worry was that her actions were risking her section. Then for the girl. When does she worry for herself?

She thinks I'm heartless, I tell her it's not heartless, that I don't get emotionally involved. I'm a bloody liar. I'm emotionally involved up to my neck here, but she doesn't need to know that. She needs to understand that where her ability to influence a situation ends; so should her involvement. There is nothing to be gained from worrying about something you can't solve. She needs to learn to trust the bigger picture.

Maybe that's it. Maybe Dawes hasn't seen enough to put her trust in the way things are done. Or maybe she's still full of fresh enthusiasm and she hasn't been worn down yet.

She tells me that it's luck. Luck that my eye isn't hurt more. I agree. It's fate. I hope my fate holds out. I want to make it back to Bastion. Back to Brize. To carry on being a father to Sam, to build a new life now the divorce is final. I don't know where to start with that, and right now the only person I want is Molly, which is rather unlikely to happen.

Again her thoughts are about the girl, what would have happened if the vest had blown? I would've have lost Dawes if that had happened, something that makes me sick to even think about. Of course she hasn't given that any thought. I don't think I can bear the thought of losing Molly, I can't begin to contemplate it.

Maybe when we get home I could contact her, meet her outside of the army, try and show her the other side of me. I could show her Bath or the Cotswolds. Would she laugh in my face? She probably thinks I'm some Rupert. Public school, Cambridge, Sandhurst; it doesn't look good when you put it like that.

Maybe she could see what we have in common. We both want to do well, we're both triers. She's bright and curious, always sticking up for her convictions. Could there be an us? Could she feel something for me?

I tell her Lady Luck must be smiling on us. The us bit slips out without me thinking. Hopefully she won't notice. I look up at her, she's covered in dust but beautiful. She smiles at me. A big unguarded smile, her eyes warm and sparkling. All I can do is gaze back and smile. Perhaps she didn't mind me saying us.


End file.
